Feeling a Moment
by inmymagicbluebox
Summary: Sherlock is in his first year at university and there's one boy in particular who's caught his eye: John Watson. Johnlock, AU, teen!lock
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes pushed the overcooked pasta around on his plate with his fork, not actually lifting any of it to his mouth and eating it. Truthfully, the only reason he came down for these stupid dinners was so he could get some extra time to see John Watson. Not that Sherlock ever spoke to him – oh he wished he did, but Sherlock never really spoke to anyone. He kept to himself and that was the way he liked it. This was why he was so scared to even say hello to John (he had calculated six possible outcomes and just about all of them didn't end well). Although John was in one of his two classes he took at university, he was always with friends, and well, Sherlock wasn't exactly the most popular person that everyone wanted to associate with and be around... Sherlock wasn't scared of John's friends – even though they tended to be the ones who picked on him most – he rather enjoyed when they spoke to him, spoke about him. It occupied him for a while and he took the opportunities to use his deduction skills in front of people and humiliate them. And it never failed to make him laugh inside at how brainless they were to keep on coming back to him when they knew that it would end with more than one of them being severely embarrassed at something Sherlock had deduced and that they'd never win while attempting to argue with the boy.

Sherlock flicked his eyes up from his now-cold-food to look across to John (he made sure he sat directly across from him, sitting at an angle where no heads would interrupt his view and they could see each other perfectly) but his gaze lasts for longer than planned. John was looking over at him too and their eyes fix for only a moment (2.8 seconds if Sherlock was counting correctly) until Johns face flushed a bright red and he quickly looked down. Sherlock smirked to himself when he got the reaction from John that let him know he had seen him looking at him. This had happened countless times previously to that night. They would catch each other staring just about every time they were in the same room as each other, and each time it would boost Sherlock's ego, for a second, giving him the confidence to debate going over and talking to him but he never would. Little did Sherlock know that John felt the same.

John had been in Sherlock's English class since they started their first year at uni four months ago. This was John's second class too. His other subject, the one he focused on most, was sports. At the age of seven John had realised he wanted to be a footballer after discovering he had a true, natural talent in the sport. Being in the same English class meant that John knew a bit about Sherlock. He knew he didn't have any friends and he knew that Sherlock Holmes was a very clever man indeed. John felt drawn to Sherlock. He felt seized by his puzzling and peculiar presence. But he had never spoken to him. John was worried about talking to the other man. He worried about what his friends would do; would they leave him for speaking to that "freak"? But the thing that panicked him the most was Sherlock's reaction. Whenever anyone else spoke to him he either seemed distant, like he obliviously didn't care about a word you were saying and he wasn't actually listening, or he'd make a fool out of you in front of dozens of people who would make sure to never let you forget it. So John thought it was best to wait for the right time to talk to him, when he was ready to take a chance in talking to the mysterious man.

Sherlock's other subject was chemistry. In his eyes he was aspiring to be something more practical and more fulfilling in life than John. Since a young age crimes and mysteries captured him and occupied him unlike normal things that would entertain children. Sherlock had always known that he had an amazing mind, one that worked uniquely from any other, and he always used this to his advantage. He could work people out from just a look, know their background, their life. He could tell what they were thinking, what they were feeling, what they knew and didn't know. This applied to John Watson too. Sherlock knew that he lived on campus, had one sister, parents were still together, no pets, played sports, tended to keep his feelings to himself, didn't really get on with his friends and felt he had to impress them – and that was all from one look the first time he walked into English class.

What Sherlock also knew was that the day was a Friday, and on Fridays John would always go back to his dorm room with his friends for a couple of hours, usually having a drink – going by the state of them on most Saturday mornings. Sherlock glanced at his watch. 18:16. That meant John and his friends were just about to leave and go back to John and David's room (the two friends shared). So Sherlock got up, dropped his fork and pushed the full plate of freezing pasta away, starting to swiftly walk back to his dorm, making sure to be ahead of John and his friends so they didn't bump into each other on the way to their separate rooms.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sherlock briskly walked down the corridors he kept his head down, not wanting to make eye contact with any passers-by, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. The bottom of his long, grey jacket flared out every time he turned a corner. This was what Sherlock normally wore; his big, dark coat – collar always turned up –, his navy blue scarf, and underneath usually a shirt and trousers. Despite looking very odd in a university full of young people, all wearing jeans and t-shirts, dressed in casual-wear, that was what Sherlock liked to wear, he liked being more formal.

Sherlock's dorm was with everyone else's – at the opposite end of the school to the dining hall. So going by the speed he walked and the distance, he calculated around about a four and a half minute walk. The corridors were almost silent, a couple of people walking about but not many. If Sherlock remembered correctly there was a big party on tonight so people would be away in their dorms getting ready. He would have usually deleted a piece of useless information like that but it stuck at the back of his mind, unable to help wondering if John was going to it or not. John tended to go out to parties like that with his friends but it was obvious he never enjoyed it. If he didn't come back drunk then he'd be in a foul mood. Like Sherlock had deducted from the first time he saw John, he felt the need to impress his friends, he's the type of person who, didn't know it themselves but, is looking for approval from everyone, and they want to be liked. And it's clear to Sherlock that John felt he had to keep his friends, he had to fit in or they wouldn't like him anymore, he would just be another person for them to pick on.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was completely different from John. He never went out to parties with the other people at the school, but he did try to avoid the university as much as he could. He found it boring there. Well, unless something was going on that interested him. The only times he was in was to go to classes, to go to bed and occasionally to go to dinner, even though it was unlikely he'd eat anything (eating and digestion slowed him down). Parties were mainly for going out, getting drunk and having meaningless sex with someone. The only times he'd go out to a party would only be if he needed to, if he needed to find out some information about something. But that was different to what Sherlock was like before. Before, when Sherlock was a bit younger, he used to go out but not particularly to parties. He used to understand the meaningless sex; it let him forget about things, calmed him down. So did the drugs. But Sherlock wasn't that person any more. He had been clean for two years – besides the cigarettes, he didn't want to give them up. He didn't need the drugs and he didn't feel the need to sleep around with anyone. Now he got his kicks from other things. Since then he'd put ads in papers for detective work and got himself a place in a lab in St. Barts which occupied him, gave his mind something to do and, most of the time, stopped him from being bored.

As Sherlock passed the bathrooms that are a few doors away from his dorm he felt a sudden numbness to his head as he got knocked backwards, frantically trying to stay on his feet. He screwed his eyes closed from the sudden pain in his nose and forehead that followed the shock, his body half bent over and leaning against the wall. "You complete imbecile! Do you not look where you're going?" Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose as he opened his eyes, wincing as he started to stand straight again. He scanned up the body of the person who stood before him, muttering to himself at how stupid this man was. He lifted his hand to his nose, pulling it away after a second to see blood. "Look! You've made me bleed you complete and utter-" Sherlock cut his self off immediately as he looked up to the other man's face. _John_. He was standing in front of him, still holding the bathroom door, – which was the weapon that smashed Sherlock's head– his facial expression a mixture of guilt, embarrassment and slight fear.

"Oh! Oh my god... Sherlock... I didn't know you were walking there. I didn't mean to hurt you; I was just coming out of the bathroom... I'll help you. Sorry..." John's words came out as a mumbled rush as he tried to help Sherlock, putting his hand on his shoulder. His face was bright red and the colour was rapidly spreading right down his neck and over his ears.

"Get off of me!" Sherlock roughly rolled his shoulder out of John's kind grasp and took a step back from him, his voice bitter and deep. "I can manage perfectly fine on my own, thank you." He stated while brushing down his jacket, momentarily holding his hand to his nose again, trying to stop the blood flow.

This wasn't exactly how either of them wished their first meeting to be.

John let his hand fall away from Sherlock and he looked up at him with apologetic eyes. He only noticed then how tall Sherlock actually was compared to him – not that John attained any great height himself, but nonetheless, Sherlock was taller than what he expected (although people usually expect him to be shorter). Sherlock just stood for a moment, letting his eyes roam over John's body. Clean shoes, new shirt, freshly ironed trousers, hair just been combed, last used some form of spray around ten minutes ago...

"Are you sure you're okay? That looked like it was quite a shock for you..." John interrupted Sherlock's thought process, scratching the back of his neck (obviously something he did when he was nervous, which Sherlock took mental note of).

"Why were you heading this way?" Sherlock questioned, back to looking John in the eye again. Just as John was about to speak, Sherlock interjected, leaving John looking slightly confused and taken back by the sudden accusations. "You have a party tonight so surely you must have to be heading back to your, or a friends, dorm by now before you go out. So why were you going to walk in the opposite direction from the dorms?"

"I was... I was just going to pop to the library before I went, to get this book..." John trailed off and paused for second, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. "Hang on, how did you know I was going out?"

"It's a massive party; I just assumed you'd be going. That and what you're wearing kind of gave it away." John breathed out a small chuckle but his face returned to a more serious expression as a drip of blood from Sherlock's nose reminded him of what just happened, both of them briefly forgetting about it.

"Here," John fished in his pocket for a second, taking out a napkin. He lifted it to Sherlock's nose and was about to dab the blood away but Sherlock snatched it from his hand before he got too close, wincing after he did at his mistake.

"Sorry... I..." Sherlock turned to the side, back against the wall and pressing the napkin to his nose. He instantly regretted all of this meeting, they had only just met and he was already pushing John away, doing what he usually did with people. But he _knew_ John was different. He knew even before talking to him that John wasn't like all the other stupid people in that university. But still, he stepped away from the wall and took his hand away from his nose. "I better be off. You'll be late to your party." Sherlock had made sure to have already started walking swiftly away before John could get any words out. John turned around and let go of the bathroom door as he did so, watching Sherlock make his way down the corridor.

"Sherlock," John called after him, making Sherlock completely stop in his tracks but not turn around. "I am sorry... about hitting you with the door." Sherlock just listened to John's voice before he sighed, looking back at him and scanning him over one last time. He gave a single nod before setting off for his dorm again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock flumped down on his bed when he got back to his dorm, wiping the last of the blood away from his nose. He knew he hadn't broken it, the door just knocked it pretty bad and there was sure to be an obvious bruise the next day.

Thanks to Mycroft – Sherlock's older brother – he didn't have to share his dorm with anybody else. Mycroft was a very powerful man, practically the British government, so it didn't take much effort on his part to get what he wanted. But he and Sherlock didn't really get along; Mycroft just didn't want anyone else to have to deal with sharing a room with Sherlock. The brothers both had such amazing, complex minds and in truth were very similar, most likely why they didn't get along. That and, like all siblings, they felt the need to be one better than the other.

Sherlock's body suddenly jolted with fright as he was hurled out of his silence by the alerting ring of his mobile phone. "For God's sake..." He muttered to himself as he fished around in the pockets of his black trousers for his phone that was still persistently ringing. His fingertips soon hit the device and Sherlock sighed through his nose– which hurt the quickly-bruising feature, making him wince – as he pulled it out. He glanced at the caller ID as he hit the green 'answer' button with his thumb. Mycroft? Sherlock sighed again – but through his mouth this time. What the hell did he want?

"Ah, Sherlock, I was beginning to wonder when you'd answer. You took your time." Sherlock rolled his eyes at Mycroft's voice but there was something in it that made him immediately suspicious. He seemed unusually cheery for speaking to his brother, slightly more patronising than normal; which meant he had something to be cheery and patronising about. It wasn't something personal – well at least not something too big of a deal or he would have wanted to meet his sibling in person to show off whatever it was he had accomplished. So that left the only likely explanation; Sherlock was in shit. And after only a few seconds he knew it. The only problem was that he had no idea what he had done now.

"Mycroft," Sherlock addressed, narrowing his eyes sceptically even though Mycroft couldn't see. "What do you want?"

"Now now, brother, don't speak to me like that. You really shouldn't talk to your older-"

"Get to the point." Sherlock snapped, getting tired already of Mycroft's condescending voice. A sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"Father found out."

"Found out what?" Sherlock quickly asked, needing to know what exactly his dad had found out, a rapidly growing list of possibilities going through his head but most of them unlikely.

"About the drugs. I told you he would find out. You can't keep anything from him, he's not as stupid as you'd like to think-"

"How?" Sherlock demanded from his brother, needing to know more before he could think about what he was going to do in this situation.

"I'm not sure... maybe you should talk to him abou-"

"Tell me how he found out. Now, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice grew louder and then deeper, almost growling at him. He knew Mycroft knew how. He knows everything. Mycroft sighed.

"He got access to your bank account, he wanted to check your spending, and was looking up on how much money you had been taking out. He saw odd amounts being taken out every-so-often that wasn't paid to a store and he obliviously got suspicious. So he hacked into your phones details online to see who you'd been calling and texting, seeing if he could make any links. He called a few numbers and then he found your dealer." Mycroft explained at length and Sherlock could hear the smirk in his voice. After a moment's pause Sherlock hung up the phone, throwing it across the room with a strong curse. He watched as it smacked against the wall and landed on the floor, but it did not break. "Fuck... fuck" he muttered, ripping his fingers through the dark curls on the top of his head. Sherlock pressed his finger tips to his temples and took a deep breath in. He had to calm down and think rationally. _His father was going to murder him._ He closed his eyes and tried to think about what he was going to do. He knew he wouldn't get off lightly with this, his father certainly wouldn't be lenient, and there was no point in letting them know he had stopped the drugs a couple of weeks previously because he knew that would make no difference.

_Stupid phone. _Sherlock opened his eyes again to send a death-glare over to his mobile which was challengingly letting him know he had a text. Probably Mycroft again, complaining about Sherlock hanging up on him. For the first time Sherlock wished it were Mycroft and not anybody else. Reluctantly, Sherlock lifted himself off his bed and walked over to the phone.

_For the foreseeable future, father's stopped any more money going into your bank account. I did try to tell you that before you hung up on me. MH._

Before Sherlock's brain could process what his body was doing, his phone was across the other side of the room again. He growled a frustrated sigh and tore his jacket away from the hook on the back of his dorm door. After he threw it around his body, Sherlock grabbed his navy blue scarf that had previously been dumped on his bed when he had to clean up the remaining blood from his nose. After carelessly wrapping it around his neck, Sherlock hurriedly left his dorm, swiftly making his way to the nearest exit out of the building. He needed to calm down. He needed to think about everything. He needed to smoke.

Once he had escaped from inside the university, Sherlock found the nearest spot away from the school that was in darkness, hidden, and most importantly silent, so he could have some time to think. He dug around in his deep coat pockets for his cigarettes that he knew were in there – his lighter too – and he pulled one from the packet, hands slightly trembling. After lighting, Sherlock deeply inhaled from the cigarette, seconds later feeling the taste, the smell, entering his body. But as Sherlock took his second drag he noticed they weren't working as well as normal. He wasn't getting the usual calming-buzz from them. Sherlock lowered the cigarette, looking down on it as it smouldered, slowly exhaling the smoke from his body that matched the clouds in the black sky.

He knew what he needed now but tried to shake the thought away. He couldn't. Not after what just happened. Although it would be so easy...


	4. Chapter 4

***********Authors Note:** I'm really happy with the reaction these first few chapters have received, everyone has seemed to enjoy it. I'm going to carry on writing because I'm enjoying writing this, hopefully as much as you enjoy reading! Remember to leave comments, reviews, opinions and suggestions because it's really helpful to know what you think!*********

As he got closer, he could feel the booming bass of the music, gently pounding in his chest. He could smell it; the alcohol, the perfumes of different people, all tied together with a slight whiff of vomit. Sherlock brought his sight away from the ground and looked up in front of him, seeing the lights and small crowds of people outside the building where the party was taking place. It was drawing nearer and nearer. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't care if anyone found out any more. Screw his dad.

* * *

"That'll be fifty." Sherlock nodded and handed over fifty pounds in notes. He had taken some cash out of the bank before he came back to university a week previous after his Easter holiday, and stored the money in his wallet.

Sherlock hated not knowing things.

He wished he could pull back the dark hood of the dealer to see the man with the thick Irish accent underneath. His face was hidden and it didn't help that they were out of sight in the darkness of an alleyway. But his mind was quickly taken off that as the Irish man handed his fix to him, brushing past him as he did. He made his way out of the alley, most likely to wait for a vulnerable partier to supply with their fun for the night.

* * *

After Sherlock had quickly examined his package to make sure he hadn't been cheated, he too stepped out of the alleyway, making himself slightly visible to the people that were attending the party. Sherlock was still half in darkness, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. He took a quick glance around; quick enough so nobody could see his face, quick enough to see who was there, _quick enough to see if John was there_. For a second his eyes fixed on a blonde. It was John. He was standing with two of his friends and a couple of girls. Internally, Sherlock frowned at this but his body did not move. He stood completely still in the shadows, watching from a distance.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock snapped his head to the side to see who the voice came from, mentally cursing at himself for being noticed. "Sherlock! Hey! What are you doing here?" After the initial shock of someone speaking to him, Sherlock could recognise that voice anywhere.

"Victor," He addressed, now facing the man.

"I thought you said parties weren't your type of thing?" Victor smirked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Yes, Victor Trevor had asked Sherlock out to many parties before. Sherlock turned down every offer. Victor was the type of person who liked to go out and have fun with his friends; Sherlock wasn't. And he had lots of friends and was pretty popular; Sherlock wasn't. And despite the amount of times Sherlock had turned down his offers to go to a party, get some coffee, get some lunch, study together, go to the cinema, – the list goes on – and no matter how disinterested he seemed in him, Victor never stopped trying.

Minus the fact of Victor's desperate need to be around Sherlock, which was highly annoying; Sherlock didn't mind him all that much. He was more tolerable than the rest of the people at university anyway, and one of the only people that actually put up with Sherlock who didn't hate him.

"It's not my thing." Sherlock replied absentmindedly, his gaze passing right over Victors shoulder to where John was standing. _Did John look back? Just for a second..._

"Then what are you doing here, hmm?"

_He did look back, he did._ He was looking now, completely ignoring what his friends were saying and the girl that was trying to make conversation, much like Sherlock was doing with Victor. Both of them felt unable to look away, caught in a trance, almost, held by each other's eyes. "Sherlock? Sherlock?" Sherlock's attention snapped back to Victor as his sing-song voice interrupted his connection with John. "Are you even listening to me?" He laughed a little, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times to try and see what Sherlock was looking at.

"No." Sherlock replied bluntly, his eyes fixed on John again who was now back to talking with his friends. _What are they saying?_ Sherlock couldn't quite make it out – especially with Victor blabbering on in his ear.

Sherlock could feel his hands beginning to tremble. He was starting to remember how much he wanted his hit. "Don't you have friends to get back to?" He cut Victor short in his sentence, putting on a polite smile and changing his voice to sound nicer. He knew if turned on his charm Victor would go away quicker without asking any questions.

"Uh yeah, yeah I probably should. They'll be wondering where I've gotten too..." Victor trailed off. Sherlock hid his hands behind his back, clasping them together so Victor wouldn't notice them shaking.

"Goodbye, Victor." Sherlock nodded once, starting to turn around to walk away from the party scene.

"Sherlock wait," Victor stepped forward, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock stopped and turned around, sighing impatiently. He could feel the weight of his hit in his pocket. "I just... I just wondered if you were doing anything next weekend? You know, if you wanted to do something? Maybe go to the cinema or something?"

"I really need to go." Sherlock stepped back from Victor's hand, his eyes drifting over to where John was before. He, his friends and the girls seemed to have disappeared in the time Sherlock wasn't looking. _Damn._

"Oh... Of course, yeah," Victor looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll, uh, see you..." When he looked up Sherlock was already walking away. "...later"

* * *

After Sherlock escaped Victor, he walked as fast as he could away from signs of life, wanting to be in private so he could get his fix.

Part of him was still thinking about John. He wondered if they saw each other when Sherlock wasn't with Victor John maybe would have came over to talk to him? Sherlock found himself beginning to worry. What if he didn't get home safely? What if he wasn't safe at the party? Someone could spike his drink, he could get too drunk... _Shut up, Sherlock_, he told himself. It was stupid to worry. Why was he worrying? He and John weren't even friends.

At that moment, Sherlock remembered his brothers words, "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." And now he was starting to see why.

* * *

Sherlock thought it was best if he waited until he got back to his dorm before he took his hit, less chance of being caught or having some junkie out on the streets beat him up for it.

When he got inside, he grabbed the package out of his pocket before throwing his coat and scarf on the floor at the bottom of his bed. Before Sherlock climbed on to his bed, he kicked off his shoes, leaving them lying untidily on the floor. He peeled open the package, his hands trembling with anticipation.

* * *

Sherlock lay back on his bed. Oh god he had missed this feeling. He felt relaxed, and happy, and numb. He closed his eyes, just breathing deeply. This was a sensation smoking couldn't give him. He knew it was bad for his self to do this, he knew that, but this was just for tonight, until he found another way to deal with his feelings. To spite his dad.

He thought of his dad as he lay there. He imagined what a joy it would be to see his face if he found out what his son had just done. Sherlock smirked to himself when he pictured it. But suddenly he sat upright, staring at the door. Someone knocked on it. Sherlock waited in silence to see if they'd knock again, if they'd say who it was. They knocked again. "Hello? Sherlock are you in there?" Sherlock froze. He knew exactly whose voice that was.

After a moment of debating, Sherlock quietly got up, deciding to answer the door. He briefly looked at himself in the mirror, checking for any signs of his night's activities. Sherlock opened the door only slightly, so his face could be seen, looking up at the man standing before him. _What was he doing here?_

"Are you alright?" After John saw Sherlock's face he seemed concerned all-of-a-sudden, he noticed something was slightly different. It wasn't that noticeable he was high, was it? Sherlock nodded, not keeping eye contact. John stayed silent for a moment. "I saw you at the party. I just sort of guessed when we spoke earlier that you wouldn't be there, you know, you don't seem much like someone who goes to parties."

"I'm not, I was just..." Once Sherlock was in the middle of his sentence he realised he couldn't make up a lie that would sound better than the truth. John seemed to smirk for a second but his eyes were starting to study Sherlock's face. Was he looking more into his sense that something was up, that something was different? Sherlock guessed it would probably only be a matter of time before John worked out what he had been doing. He didn't want John to know. He didn't want it to change what John thought about him. John's eyes met Sherlock's, – a different tension from before, at the party – Sherlock didn't look away this time. John took in a breath and curiously tried to look over Sherlock's shoulder into his room, resulting in Sherlock pulling the door tighter closed against his body.

Neither of them really knew what to do or what to say.

"Are you sure you're alright...?" Sherlock didn't know how to respond. He nodded again and smiled at John. John nodded back. "Okay. I guess you're just busy. I'll see you around..." Sighing slightly as he spoke, John rubbed his nose a little and took a step away from Sherlock's door, about to turn away. Sherlock stayed silent only for a moment.

"Why did you come here?" Sherlock let the door open a little further so he could poke his head through. He had to ask. He knew John was here for a reason and Sherlock couldn't stand not knowing why. John stopped but didn't turn around. _Did he look nervous?_

"I, uhhh..." He turned around. "I was just wondering, you know, because I saw you at the party, if you, uh," John paused and looked up at Sherlock's face – which showed a confused expression. John was appearing more and more nervous. _Hurry up, John. Just say it. What?_ "If you wanted to come back?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John cleared his throat. "With me?"


End file.
